First Time For Everything
by sunshineofthespotlessmind
Summary: When your life is a constant quest for revenge, you don't have time for the little things- so now, with the help of our favourite telepath, Erik discovers ice cream, among other things. Slash & totally fluffy, but I couldn't help it.
1. Ice Cream

_A/N: This began as a drabble (but became way too long) about how Erik realises how much he's been missing out on. In a constant quest for vengeance, you don't really have time for the little things, and so, with the help of our favourite telepath, he discovers ice cream, among other things. A little (but not much) angst, and so much fluff it's frankly ridiculous, but I was in a fluffy mood. Pre-slash, so if you don't like it, you know where to go. _

They decide, by popular consensus, that they're driving each other crazy. Alex and Hank have been arguing on and off for the better part of a week, and its only a high pitched shriek from Sean, loud enough that it threatens to shatter an ear drum that finally gets them to shut up. For a while. At the moment, from what anyone can gather, it's Round 23: Who ate the last pop tart? Charles has given up being mediator, (even his near legendary patience does have a limit, and apparently its hormonal teens) and is busy trying to ignore the splitting headache brought on by the constant aggression and irritation being barrelled in his direction.

Erik, being Erik, just watches and smirks.

Raven hasn't come out of her room for days, proclaiming that she's not leaving it till the others finally shut up, and by this point Charles is so fed up that he's considering freezing them and leaving them like that for a month. Erik is on the verge of agreeing with him, but in a moment of fatherly instinct he never knew he had, he finally yells above the noise that they're going out. No arguments, no objections, all of them are going, and that's final.

Moira, who they meet on their way out of the door, comes along, suggesting a local reservoir- given the cold, blustery weather its likely to be empty, and they can blow off steam without fear of exposure. Not that they really need worry about that with their resident Human Detector, she says with a flirtatious smile in Charles' direction, but it doesn't hurt to be careful.

The sky is a cold metallic grey reflected by the still water, and they bundle out of the car wrapped in hoodies, coats and various scarves. Alex and Sean are off immediately, chasing the pigeons and whooping like a pair of manic five year olds as Raven watches, torn between laughter and shame at their immaturity. Hank wanders off by himself to sit on a grassy bank, scribbling furiously in a notebook, but some of the tension has left his shoulders, and he's smiling as he writes.

Erik stands with Charles as Moira laughs with Raven, hair blowing across their faces till they can barely see. Even out here in the relative peace, Erik does not relax, standing guard over his brood with the focus of a soldier, and Charles waits with him, watching as Raven relaxes into her beautiful blue self, and Sean begins to curse like a sailor because one of the pigeons has gotten their revenge. Alex is rolling in the sand in hysterics, and he feels the familiar stirrings of affection as he guards his young charges.

He looks to his left, and these feelings are swamped by an absurd delight, because Erik is actually smiling- not the usual, don't-even-think-about-trying-to-reach-me-you-won't-ever-understand not quite but almost smile, but one that is soft and genuine. And it's rather lovely.

Charles has tried, very hard, not to let his attraction to the metal bender get the better of him, because he's promised the man that he won't go anywhere near his thoughts. He'd said it and he meant it, but it's just so _hard!_ He only wants to know, with increasing frustration and desperation as the days pass, if there's the slightest, tiniest inkling of the _possibility_ of reciprocation from the silent German, but he can't look because he's promised and so he won't.

Erik glances over at him, his face for once, soft and calm even in his watchfulness, and Charles smiles back, eyes twinkling like the sun on the water. Moira watches Charles watch Erik, but no-one watches her as she sighs, a sigh full of sadness and not a little regret. She's not stupid- she knows what's going on even if they don't and she knows when to bow out gracefully. So she turns back to Raven and tries not to let it show as the red-head suggests a walk.

Suddenly Sean comes barrelling over the hill, screaming about the Ice Cream Man. Erik tenses automatically at the sudden noise, and everyone can feel the coins in their pockets twitch at his sudden tension. Charles doesn't turn, but lays a comforting hand on his arm, smiling as Sean races over because _can't he have one oh please please please!_

They all choose and Charles insists on paying, calling it his treat like an indulgent mother. Erik is last as the rest slurp theirs happily, but no-one can miss how he pauses, staring in confusion at the boxes of coloured not-quite-cream that line the counter. The ice cream man begins to frown, the question no-one wants him to ask forming on his lips. He's seen people who haven't known what they wanted, but this man looks like he's never seen ice cream before, and that can't be right! Charles can tell, can see without Reading the look of growing panic in Erik's eyes, because he doesn't know what it is or what to do and he hates hates _hates _not knowing what to do.

Without thinking Charles freezes them all except Raven (because he's promised he won't) and Erik jerks again, shocked by the sudden stillness. Even the pigeons are frozen, and Charles glances at Raven, willing her to understand. She gets the message, moving away, and he places a gentle hand on other mans as the metal ice creams scoops begin to jerk slightly in their holders. Charles can feel his belt buckle tugging at him as Erik fights to calm down, to remain in control, beating back the shame because he _knows_ what ice cream is, he's such an idiot because who panics over _ice cream_ for God's sake and what will Charles think now?

He turns, but there's no scorn in those soft blue eyes, no condemnation or even pity, nothing but a little concern. And Erik snaps like he always does when he feels cornered, but that doesn't chase it away, it just grows more pronounced as Charles offers him a bite of his, something called a Cherry Swirl.

It's good, he realises as it melts on his tongue, sweet and slightly thick, the taste making him hum with pleasure. His eyelid slide down but only halfway, and so he catches the delight in the eyes of his telepath- and when on earth did he start thinking of him as _his? _When did _Charles_ become _his_, but then it doesn't really matter because the man _is_ his, he always has been, and so the exact moment he became so really isn't very important.

He opens his eyes and smiles, stealing another lick, making Charles laugh in mock outrage as he frees the others, tension dissolving like sugar in water.

In the end, they share.

_If you have time, please drop me a review or some ideas- I love hearing from you!_

_P.S- Should I do some more of these?  
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	2. Hammocks

_A/N: Wow, everyone! Thanks so much for taking the time to read and leave all your lovely comments, they made my day :D I'd love to respond to them all personally, but I'd just gush disgustingly and say something horribly embarrassing, so I'm settling for a blanket thank you- you're all amazing!_

_Okay, this one isn't as fluffy, but it's still pretty bad, I can't help it. Unfortunately, Erik being Erik, it's impossible not to have a little angst, but I've tried to keep it to a minimum. Enjoy!_

Hammocks:

There are shrieks of laughter coming from outside as Alex tackles Sean to the ground. What began as an innocent game of basketball has rapidly become an all out war, one Alex seems to be winning by ambush tactics and guerrilla warfare. Raven sits with Hank, hands close but not quite touching in the innocence of youth and good weather, and Charles... Charles is nowhere to be seen.

He calls out, projecting his thoughts in the hope he's listening, and his voice, even his mental one, is more worried than he'd like. He still hasn't let his guard down, not even after all these months, but then he hasn't cared about anyone like this in a long, long time.

The telepath responds instantly, voice warm and reassuring and a little bit amused, calming him instantly. He's in the herb garden, and Erik is welcome to join him.

When he arrives on the sunlit veranda, Charles is laying on the strangest contraption he's ever seen. Two metal poles about 2 meters apart, with a stretch of material in between, making a kind of bed big enough for at least three people, suspended a few inches from the ground. It looks uncomfortable from where he's standing, but he stops for a moment to admire the view; warm sunlight on wiry, supple limbs.

And stops, halts the thought and shoves it away, because Charles isn't a telepath for nothing, and scaring away his only friend with thoughts like that will probably kill him. Or send him back, back to the place where anger rules and vengeance is everything, and right now he doesn't want to go back.

Oh, Shaw will die one way or the other, he won't give up on that, not now, but he's gotten further with Charles that he ever did on his own, and something about him, some indefinable thing eases the rage so it's almost bearable. With Charles he can breathe, when he's been held underwater for so long he's forgotten what it's like. With Charles, Shaw seems so far away.

Of course, Charles being the trusting, innocent fool that he is, he's promised he won't ever look inside his head, inside anyone's head without good reason, but Erik also knows that he has the dangerous habit of projecting his thoughts so loud the man can't help but hear them.

The professor looks up and smiles, blue eyes sparkling as he lays down his book, an academic work on the fall of Constantinople. As Erik stands, content to remain there and drink in the sight of him, he pats the material he lays on, a clear invitation.

Why not? Erik smirks. It's big enough for two and he doesn't want to be rude...

He soon learns, however, that there is a fine art to sitting on the contraption- which apparently is called a hammock- without falling straight off and landing flat on your face, and it takes a while to master. Soon the air is filled with English laughter as he tries and fails to sit on the blasted thing, falling on the dirt in the process. Several times.

He wonders absently why it doesn't bother him that Charles is laughing at him, when he's never been able to stand being mocked. But then it's nothing like the way Herr Doktor used to laugh when Erik was screaming so much he could barely hear it. It's a soft, rich, beautiful sound, and despite how much the Professor smiles he rarely laughs. It eases something in his chest, even lying face down on the floor.

Strong arms grasp him and pull him up, repositioning him so he's lying flat, close enough to be indecent if he could summon the energy to care. Because he's too busy forcing himself to be still, holding back the instinct to turn and destroy whatever is foolish enough to grab him from behind, keeps reminding himself that _it's okay because it's Charles, he's not Shaw, it's okay, it's okay, it's Charles it's Charles it's Charles..._

And he opens his eyes to find blue ones above him, soft and smiling, and he trembles a little as he settles himself. It's like a balancing act- fine if you don't think about it, and what better way to distract himself than the warmth seeping into his shirt.

Unable to help himself he shuffles a little closer, burrowing into the comfort, earning a chuckle from above him as an arm curls round his shoulders. The warmth is incredible.

Charles picks up his book again, seemingly content not to talk, and Erik sighs, eyes closing of their own accord as he leans into the warmth. Last night was bad, but he smiles as he drifts off, because he knows with Charles there won't be nightmares.

After five, where Hank has called for dinner and no-one's seen them for hours, Raven steps into the garden as the others search the house.

She leaves a moment later- a soft smile on her face. She leaves two men, curled around each other, sleeping peacefully in the afternoon sunlight, and smiles the gentle smile of a sister who knows her brother is finally happy.

_If anyone has the time to review/ has any ideas, I really love hearing from you, and I need things Erik can try!_

_Next: Movie Nights_

_Special Note to Mrs Unusual-In-Groovy-Ways, thanks so much because I love your idea and I totally will do it within the next few weeks or so, but I need to figure out a way to tweak it for my extremely vague plotline which is totally happening, I swear._


	3. Movie Night

_A/N: Everyone, thank you so much for all the ideas and reviews that I've been getting- it's really inspiring to know that you like my work!_

_This one came out a little more slashy and Charles-centric than I intended, but I just went with it- there probably will be actual slash fairly soon because that's just how they want it, and who am I to deny our favourite mutant duo? The whole series is probably going to be AU too- I don't think I can leave them on the beach like that with the amount of fluff I seem to be writing, so I'm going to have to think of something. Anyway, enjoy!_

Movie Nights:

Erik calls from the doorway, smiling an exasperated smile because it's the _third_ time, and Charles finally glances up, faced scrunched in a frankly adorable expression of befuddlement at the interruption. He tries and fails to ignore the thrill he always gets when Charles looks like that, because in all honesty, pretty much anything about Charles gives him a thrill. It's just who he is.

"My friend, Raven is calling for a 'Movie Night' and is refusing to take no for an answer." His brow wrinkles at the unfamiliar term, and Charles has to fight down the sudden urge to kiss it smooth again. "She said to drag you kicking and screaming to the lounge if I have to."

Charles can't help but smile at his sister's stubbornness as he lays down his novel.

"Did she now?" He chuckles, the sound sending happiness through the air, straight into Erik's chest. "And what genre did you suggest, my friend? A romance perhaps?"

His tone is teasing, but all at once the laughter is gone from Erik's face, replaced by something bleaker. "I wouldn't know." The German replies, and his voice is flat. "I've never seen one." There is something cold in his tone when he says it, like he's just waiting for Charles to point and laugh at the freaky Jewish mutant who's never seen a film before, and Charles winces internally.

He winces because every time he thinks he understands a little, thinks he's won a battle in the never ending war for Erik's trust, something throws him a curve ball. And every time it happens, it gets harder and harder and _harder_ not to go and kill Shaw himself because the man has _so_ much to answer for.

He gets up as Erik watches him warily, waiting for the scorn, but he won't give it to him, won't let the demons win. Instead he smiles, promising Erik he will never forget his first time- he can't help the gentle levity, because he will do anything to reassure him.

He's already halfway down the corridor when Erik responds, so he doesn't see the flash of relief in the eyes of his friend, the quirk of the lips in a surprised half smile.

They gather in the lounge- Hank has pulled a film projector from god knows where, and draped a sheet over a beam to form a screen. Erik stares at the setup, not understanding, and Raven, Director of the night's event, lays out the selection of film reels, all neatly labelled with the latest releases. She is, unsurprisingly, blushingly unforthcoming about the details of how she obtained them and Hank mock frowns before laughing and hugging her flushed form, pointedly ignoring the faces Sean is making in the background.

Charles, however, is spinning around, catching the thought before Alex can voice it, and projecting his own. He's about to suggest _The Elusive Corporal, _a recently translated French film about life in a prison camp that the others mentioned, and Charles begs him silently to reconsider, given present company. He's probably overreacting, he's aware of this- there's no guarantee Erik will know what the films about, let alone that the others will want to watch it, but with Erik he refuses to be too careful.

He breathes a sigh of relief when Alex flushes, comprehension colouring his face. The apology is clear in his gaze, but Charles doesn't mind as long as Erik doesn't know.

Crisis averted.

Raven turns to Erik now, unaware of the problem; too busy casting a sly glance at her brother. She's asking him what films he likes, and Erik glances at Charles before he answers, seeking reassurance like a small child. Erik hates being the centre of attention, he really does.

Shock passes over their faces when he haltingly admits he's never seen one, but it's soon replaced by demands for popcorn and chocolate, because if this is his first time, they need to make it the REAL experience. Charles rolls his eyes, mentally bewailing his inability to deny them anything, but he's caught off guard by a thought that's actually projected at him.

**You're SUCH a pushover.**

Unable to stop himself blushing, he turns slowly, sticking out his tongue in Erik's direction, because sometimes childishness is the only viable response. There is a confused pause, and then everyone stops, frozen in the moment as a foreign sound fills the air.

Erik is laughing.

It's a low sound, deep and rich but slightly hoarse from underuse, the type of laugh that bubbles up from the base of your stomach because you just can't stop it. To Charles, it's a godsend, a sound to be cherished and hoarded for its beauty and rarity, a sound that infects others without even trying. Alex and Sean are suddenly grinning on their way out the door, Hank is whistling in the kitchen, and Raven has paused on the stairs, golden eyes radiant. She's mostly blue these days- she and Hank have been good for each other, and Charles is slowly getting used to how beautiful she is like that.

He'd never realised what he'd been doing all those years- had never meant to make her ashamed in his heavy handed attempts at protection. His apology had been stuttering, but her anger had dissolved instantly, and she'd smiled as she hugged him, their first hug in a long time.

Erik is still chuckling as Charles joins him on the couch, eyes dancing like stars. Charles grins in return, and in a rare moment of boldness reaches out to clasp a scarred hand, squeezing it gently. He won't look at Erik because he's blushing again, but he relishes the contact, running a thumb over a scar. Erik shivers, thrilling at the contact, but all too soon Charles pulls away because Hank is about to walk in and the moment is gone.

Later, when the film is picked- it's a science fiction, against his better judgement- and Ravens lying with her head in Hanks lap; Alex glances round from his place on the floor. Even in the semi-dark he can seen the two men, squashed together on the smaller couch. It looks uncomfortable from where he's sitting, but neither man seems to be complaining.

Erik is captivated, enraptured by the images and colour and effects. He's seen televisions before but the scale stuns him. He jumps a little at every twist, starts at every bang because he can't tell if their real or not, but that's alright, because his hand is around the professors again, so everything's going to be fine.

_Next Up: Halloween_

_Comments, ideas and reviews are really appreciated, so please, if you have time I'd love to hear from you!_


	4. Halloween

_A/N; Thank you to Mrs Groovy-in-Unusual-Ways for this idea, I loved it the second I saw it. I'm definitely going to used some other ideas that have been sent to me, but I don't think I'm going to make this longer than 10/11 chapters and I already know what I'm doing for my last one, so if you want to see yours, get your ideas in!_

_Enjoy!_

Halloween:

It takes a while, but the children learn not to be surprised when Erik says he hasn't tried something, especially as it soon becomes an excuse for copious amounts of whatever it is he's missed out on.

This time its Halloween, Erik's first, and so the house is lavishly decorated with grinning pumpkins and witches and bats and every other traditional cliché going, so there's eyes staring at him whenever he turns around. Erik still doesn't understand the point or significance of any of it, but Charles had smiled whilst Alex begged in his best whining voice, and so he'd given in without nearly as much reluctance as he pretended.

The children are off Trick or Treating- whatever that means- but apparently Raven is the trick. When they get back, laden with whatever goods they can carry, they'll have a proper dinner, and Charles, being the mother he is, has made them promise not to eat any beforehand.

Not that they won't.

As far as he can tell, the idea of the holiday runs something like this; on this night, dead people and evil spirits are supposed to rise and cause havoc. So, in order to prevent this... children dress up as monsters and go from door to door to beg for candy from adults. If they don't have any, the children are allowed to trick them- Alex swears egging is the way to go, but is under strict orders to not even think about it from someone who'd actually know if he did.

He's still totally confused, but he supposes that's what he gets from listening to an Oxford graduate and teenagers at the same time.

It's just him and Charles alone in the mansion, and they're preparing something called a piñata- a paper structure that's supposed to resemble a horse- except it doesn't. Charles, despite his many talents, doesn't have an artistic bone in his body, and Erik knows he isn't much better; so at the moment it resembles the Hindenburg. After the explosion.

He knows he can't help and doesn't even try- instead, he tries not to laugh as Charles gets covered in paper and glue, culminating in- for the professor- a vicious bout of swearing, and by this point Erik is so close to laughing he's only stopped by the gathering storm clouds in the sky blue eyes.

But when Charles gets up and manages to stand on the bowl of glue, falling flat on his face and looking adorably like a startled squirrel, he can't help it. He laughs.

Every time Erik laughs, Charles melts into a puddle. He can't stop himself because his bones just turn to jelly, and every time he has to be pulled off the floor by a chuckling German, this time because the children are home, and are ready for the traditional activities. The children have prepared a tank that is waiting outside for the apples, but Erik is avoiding this like the plague- he's all for the children having fun with it, but it's not for him. Along with 'Operations sans anaesthetic' it was one of Shaw's favourite 'treatments.'

He frowns at that, because this is the first time he's thought of Shaw in a while. Every time he does, whenever he starts to remember the face of his mother as the bullet pierces her heart, another face pushes it out of the way. This face has blue eyes and warm hands and ridiculously pale skin, hiding an innocence that Erik would mock into oblivion if he didn't secretly covet it.

Shaw's name doesn't carry the rage it used to either, or rather, it's a different rage. The rage before was a wildfire, all consuming, all destroying and completely uncontrollable. All he could do was let it burn. He was going to kill Shaw because Shaw had killed his mother, because it was the only way he could think of to make the burning _stop_.

Its ice now. The flames have refined and crystallised- it's still there, but it takes up less space, less effort to control, and it's easier to ignore. Now Shaw must die... because they'll never be safe with him alive. He can't let the children live in a world with a monster like that still in it, and Charles... Charles wouldn't be safe either, for all his power.

He just hopes Charles can forgive him when he does.

The party is in full swing, and the children, under careful supervision, are allowed cider. Any sign of drunkenness means immediate bedtime and no fun training for three days, and Charles does his best to ignore the constant thoughts **Mother** coming from behind him. Erik has recently mastered the art of projecting his thoughts, and seems to think it's funny to do so whenever Charles can't retaliate.

Charles doesn't tell him he's the only person who can actually do it. Raven tried to learn years ago, but he still had to focus on her to hear it; with Erik it's easy, he doesn't even have to listen and the thought strolls into his head, fully formed. He still doesn't know what to think about it, and so he's keeping it to himself, at least until he knows a bit more about what it means.

The piñata is presented for the obligatory mockery, because what else do you expect from teenagers? Erik tries not to notice how the red in the skin of a blushing Englishman makes his eyes look even bluer.

Eventually, it turns into a not-completely-unexpected battle between Sean and Alex, and Charles sighs. Really, _who_ decided giving two teenage boys wooden baseball bats was a good idea? Everyone knows that Sean is cheating anyway because echolocation is definitely _not _allowed in the mansion, but it's Halloween, so everyone's too happy to care.

Now it's time for the apple bobbing, and Erik smiles behind his eyes. Charles will never admit this, because it would mean admitting to the ridiculous amount of time he spends staring at the man, but when Erik smiles they change colour, from gunmetal grey to the colour of swirling fog.

Slowly, gently, like leaves falling upwards, a neat line of apples floats into the room as the lights darken, creating shadows on the walls. The children gasp as they drift through the air, levitated by the paperclips he's stuck into one end, and they slowly they begin to dance around the heads of the dazzled children as they delight in the new dimension to the age old game. Soon they're laughing like mad things as they try and bite at fruits that dash away when they try, spinning round their heads and avoiding teeth.

There are good natured cries of 'Cheat!' but he just laughs, loving the sight of the children so happy and trying to ignore the brilliant eyes of his friend.

Because then he might do something really stupid.

_A/N- is this too OOC? I've tried to keep them as in character as possible, but I'm not sure- please let me know if they're getting too different!_

_Anyway, if you like my work, please review- I love all your comments and ideas, they make me smile :D_

_Next: Fireworks_


	5. Fireworks

_A/N: Just to clarify, in this fic the destruction of the CIA base happens around September 1961, and they train for a lot longer than it seems in the film- personally I thought it was around that long anyway, but apparently it seemed shorter for some people, so this is just to clarify._

_Right- as demanded, this one actually contains slash- not much, and nothing graphic, you'll have to look for it. And sorry for all you fluff monsters, but you've been well fed, and this one is pretty much just angst- I needed Erik to have a major meltdown so he can start to recover properly, and it's not so hard to imagine he suffers from PTSD or some variation of it. I was going to be evil and leave it on a cliff-hanger, but I couldn't do it- too mean. Rest assured, it does have some smatterings of fluff and ends on a fairly soft note, because I couldn't let it all be doom and gloom._

_Enjoy!_

Fireworks:

It's Ravens birthday- or the day they've decided is her birthday- and this year, she has her heart set on fireworks. Nothing earth-shaking, nothing dangerous, just some nice colours and... small explosions.

Hank, having _finally_ asked her out after much encouragement -and even more stuttering- promises a spectacle, and buries himself in his lab making it perfect. By this point Raven is practically glowing and Charles is too- he's never seen her so happy, and he loves it.

Alex and Sean have been busy stockpiling more food than they can possibly eat in a year, whilst Erik and Charles have been secretly arranging fairly lights on the trees- well, Erik's doing the heavy lifting and Charles is directing, but Erik doesn't mind. If anyone has noticed they've been joined at the hip since Halloween, no-one says anything.

The evening is oddly fine for early November - still warm enough to be outside. Hank mans the barbeque as Raven watches as resplendent Queen of All. Alex and Sean, unable to help themselves, have begun a football match, with Charles and Erik egging them on. There's much good natured shouting and more than a little mud, but Raven just laughs.

When it's time for presents, the boys are vying to give theirs first, and Raven lets them, eyes like stars. She's never seen this many in her life. Charles always tried, but living on a student budget- his parents had been harsh even after death- was not inductive to luxury. Now he's graduated however, he has full control of his fortune, and can use it for whatever he likes. Like spoiling his little sister rotten.

Alex is first; he he's compiled his money with Sean to get a state of the art tape player and speakers- which Hank has modified to blow your ears off. The man himself has provided two tickets to her favourite musical, and is only too happy to be her escort for the evening. Erik, with his considerable pride that far outweighed any money he actually had, has made a small tiger from the last coins in his pocket, alive enough to pounce.

But it's Charles' present she loves best. A small, hang-up mirror for her room, simply made, but beautiful for the words he's had carved on its surface.

_Non ornas lillium_- gild not the lily.

She hugs him, tears gathering in her yellow eyes before calling for the fireworks, and Hank sets up whilst Erik gets a refill from inside, the beer safely away from where Alex and Sean can reach it.

The colours are fantastic- blues and red and greens and violets, made with love by their resident scientist, and the shriek into the sky as Raven claps in delight.

As the buckle of Sean's belt begins to bend, as the tables begin to rattle, sending pitchers and bowls spilling onto the grass. Alex whips around, but Erik is nowhere to be seen as the screaming of the rockets contin... the screaming.

Hank freezes, face a picture of realisation but Charles is already gone, running faster than he's ever thought possible, desperately scanning the mansion for any sign of him.

He's in the kitchen, and when Charles flies in, he's standing in a pool of rapidly spreading liquid. The man himself stands frozen by the sink, staring out the window as the beer bottle that's still in his hands pours into the overflowing glass.

"Erik?"

No response- he doesn't even seem to be breathing. His face is still, almost calm, but Charles can feel his panic from the door like a thousand nails are flying into his brain, can feel the horror as he drowns in whatever vision possesses him. The fireworks have stopped but it doesn't matter now, and he sends an urgent message to the children not to come inside, whatever happens.

Erik would never forgive himself if he hurt them.

The drawers begin to rattle as the contents respond to his will; a clashing sound from overhead tells him the lab equipment is doing the same. His power is spiralling out of control, fuelled by the chaos of his thoughts; a massive magnetic storm is brewing, with Erik at the epicentre.

There's no time for refinement, no fingers on temples- all he can do is dive straight in and pray to god it works.

Faces made rough by misery, disjointed voices swirl together, rushing at him before being snatched away. Shaw's grinning, chocolate staining his teeth, mama's gasp as the bullet hit her, Charles laughing as Raven dances madly to the music before the scene dissolves in blood, and a voice, straight from his nightmares in a sickening overture- Charles screaming as he's strapped to a gleaming table, or are they his screams, that echo and re-echo as Shaw bends over him, scalpel gleaming? _His_ telepath lying in a pool of blood from the bullet he couldn't stop, as Shaw smiles and the monster breaks free again, held in check all this time by the eyes of a chuckling Englishman.

Raven staring blankly upwards as Alex gurgles his last, as he _feels _the gate bend and twist to his will because _mama is being taken, and he can't leave her, can't let her go the way papa went, can't let her go..._

And mama again, closer now but still so far away, promising him that despite it all, everything's going to be fine.

Everything's going to be fine.

Everything's going to be...

Someone else is saying it now in soft, comforting English drawing him back. The voice is deeper, calmer, and now he can feel the weight around his shoulders, now he can see the kitchen table made blurry by tears, can feel a tentative touch of warm softness on his lips, of breathing on his cheek, so faint he can't tell if it's real. And now it's gone and he can breathe; great gasps that hurt his lungs even as he inhales.

Erik is crying. Charles can feel the wetness on his shirt, can feel the shudders that tear through his friend, threatening to rip him apart, and he can't stop himself kissing his neck, his temple, his shoulder, all the while crooning soft noises into his ear as the limbs shake beneath him.

Somehow Erik realises he's crouching on the floor, knees in a puddle of cold beer, and the only reason he's not lying on the tiles right now is because of the strong arms holding him up. The warm and wonderfully soft thing is brushing his ear, and he leans into it, fighting back the images till they begin to fade.

He looks up... and has to look away again, because he's not looking into those eyes, dark and serious and swirling with power. When he hears the voice, it's solemn as the grave.

"If I thought I could help you, by repressing the memories so they no longer touched you, would you allow me to do so?"

A shake of the head, so small he almost missed it. He can't have someone doing that to him, no matter what the reason, no matter who it is. His mind is the one thing that's always been _his._

A small smile, sensed rather than seen. "I didn't think so. They are so much a part of you, irritating, stubborn ingrate that you are."

A slight loosening of his muscles at the familiarity, and without a word, Charles pulls him up, his friend the only solid thing in a universe of chaos. He's swaying on his feet, exhaustion washing over him like a tide.

His hand is not released, and carefully, oh so carefully, he is led through empty halls. He cannot remember being treated with such care, as if he may break at any second. Ordinarily he would hate such treatment, but tonight he cannot summon the energy, not for all the revenge in the world.

Charles has sent the children to bed, leaving Hank to comfort a distraught Raven, so all is quiet when they stop outside a door of soft oak panels and familiar comfort.

Erik is led in and left to sit on Charles bed, losing himself in the soft linen, too tired to move even as Charles removes his shoes and sweat soaked jumper. He hears a breath catch as the scars are revealed, but Charles doesn't ask- he just lays him down as he fights to remain awake.

He twitches slightly at the touch of a finger, tracing a scar down his shoulder. Something follows it- lips perhaps?

"Charles?" His voice is slurred, sleepy.

"Hmm?" The soft touch on his back never ceases.

"About the fireworks..."

"Yes?"

"You will tell Raven they were beautiful, won't you? From what I saw?"

A chuckle rumbles through him, and a soft kiss behind his ear.

"Go to sleep my friend. You can tell her yourself."

_Next: Snowball Fights_

_Too angsty? I'm not sure, I wanted to make his PTSD 'episode' realistic but I may have gone too far- please tell me if I have. As always, please let me know what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong- you're all brilliant with your willingness to help me out!_

_And btw, I won't write anything really graphic, because I'm not any good at it and bad writing ruins the story- sorry :-(_


	6. Snowball Fights

_A/N; Erik is beginning to recover, and so we have returned to much fluff with a little angst- there's always going to be some angst, because he wouldn't be Erik without it- but as he gets better there shouldn't be anything too dramatic. Hopefully. You can never really tell with him._

_18/09/2011: This has now been edited fairly heavily- for some reason I just wasn't happy with it, and I'm probably going to edit the next few chapters as well. _

_Special Note to Slone's TravelDreamer & Gabriel 42- Thank you! This was your idea, and I hope you think I've done it justice- please let me know, I get paranoid :P_

_Enjoy!_

Snowball Fights:

In the first week of December, there is a blizzard. No-one can leave the house, and the children grow increasingly bad tempered. Charles has his work cut out for him- between playing mediator and dealing with Erik's growing surliness, he finds sleeping difficult, and takes to hiding in the library when he's not required elsewhere.

Erik never went back to his room after Ravens birthday. The children have noticed and smirk when they think he's not looking, but it's not what they think. For now, it's not a sex thing, it's about comfort- Charles can hold the nightmares at bay, and Erik takes solace in that. They haven't even kissed properly.

Yet.

One morning, about nine days after the snow starts, Charles wakes to silence and warmth. The light is white, and through the window he can see more snow than he's ever seen in his life. Erik, as always now, is curled up tightly beside him, hand gripping his even in sleep. He can't help himself- he never can when Erik's around, and so he kisses the beckoning temple before extricating himself.

The kitchen is empty but won't be for long- as soon as one of the boys wakes up, there will be shouts of delight and calls for the world's first All-Mutant Snowball Fight. Sean will drop snowballs like bombs, Raven will use sneak attacks, and god knows what Hank and Alex will come up with, but it probably won't be good for anything within three miles.

For now, however, the silence is bliss- Erik has been increasingly edgy as the snow continues to fall; throwing himself into training with even more vigour than normal, and the violence in each attack is increasing too. Just yesterday he smothered a training dummy with methodical slowness, pulling the liquid metal up the plastic till the entire face was covered, and now despite himself Charles is beginning to worry. With Erik getting more and more reclusive he's become obsessive, watching and noticing every little thing Erik does, but he sees him so rarely that he's resorted to monitoring him from afar- never looking at his thoughts directly, but he doesn't need to be a telepath to notice the clouds hanging ominously over his friend. The only respite seems to be at night, where Charles can hold him close without fear of a brutal rebuff.

Yells drift down from upstairs, breaking his reverie as he pours a glass of juice- Hank's awake, and calls for Sean and Alex to join him as he runs down the stairway, clattering like a mad thing. And is forced to turn back by a vengeful Englishman, because there is no way in _heaven_ Charles is letting him out in 17 inches of snow clad only in jeans and a jumper.

Several layers later, they're outside, shrieking with laughter. Snowballs are flying with increasing frequency, hitting the windows more than each other, and Charles is transfixed by the innocent joy of it all. Raven waves, but is caught in the back of the head by a blitz attack from Sean, who runs away, whooping with triumph.

He can feel the mood change in an instant, dropping like a stone when Erik appears in the kitchen. He's looking decidedly grey, but he's forcing himself to move across the cold kitchen tiles, out towards the window.

Charles takes his hand, and tries not to wince at the strength of his grip, gritting his teeth with the effort. Erik moves like a sleepwalker, eyes fixed on the scene outside, and hope suddenly flares that Charles will finally get to know what's been eating away at him.

"You don't like snow." It's not a question, so it's alright.

"I used to look out Shaw's window sometimes and see the men working in it." Charles tries not to look surprised- whatever he was expecting, it wasn't this.

"It was pointless things, like digging a hole and filling it in over and over and over, but the guards were always watching and no-one was allowed to stop. Even from my window, you could see every bone in their body- they jutted out, and they moved like dead men, stumbling as if half asleep."

A pause.

"Once there was a boy, about my age. Taller than me, stick thin, with a scar across his neck from a shrapnel wound. He was pushing a wheelbarrow bigger than he was, and as I watched he just... fell. The guards ran over and tried to make him get up, but it was too late. He fell down in the snow and never got up again."

All this is delivered in a flattened monotone, belied by the vice like grip on Charles fingers.

**I...I wished I was him so the tests would stop. **

Every word is like a knife in his heart, because even now, Erik cannot voice the words himself, relying on the mental link to convey his meaning. Things he didn't mean to say are passed across it, the self loathing, the despair, and the silent plea for forgiveness.

**You were a **_**child.**_

He doesn't say anything more, and they stand together for a time. And slowly, so slowly it's barely noticeable, the grip loosens, and Charles can move his fingers again. Erik hasn't even noticed, staring as if transfixed by the children.

"Would you try something for me?" It's a tentative question, easily refused, and Erik nods slowly, haunted eyes never leaving the scene through the window.

He's led towards the door, stopping only to pull on coats and scarves. The handle of heavy front door is grasped, and Charles glances at his friend. He's braced as if for a body blow.

The door is opened to yells of laughter and a flurry of snow, as Alex runs past to dump a fistful of snow down Hanks coat. The scientist leaps up, swearing revenge. Raven is nowhere to be seen, and gradually, oh, so gradually, Erik is beginning to relax as the children enjoy themselves.

**We cannot get rid of the memories, my friend. So we must replace them. **A thought, not intrusive, but the invitation is there if he wants to take it up.

**Really? **It's a harsh word, disbelieving, and its something the old Erik would say, before his telepath wormed his was past his every defence and took up shop in his head. Charles won't look at him, won't rise to it, he just squeezes cold fingers and promises.

**Really.**

Erik turns, and for a startling moment Charles thinks he's about to hit him. But he leans in, burying his head in the crook of his neck, strong arms wrapping around the telepaths slender frame. And Charles shivers at the soft breath on his skin, and then again at the gentle brush of lips over his pulse, which skyrockets at the contact. Erik smirks against the rough wool of his scarf.

The kisses move slowly upwards, past his jaw as fingers caress the nape of his neck. A moment. A smile.

And cheers from the children break the spell, so they turn, blushing furiously at the teasing. Charles is smiling, outright laughing as he responds to the gentle mockery, and moves to scoop some snow before throwing it, hitting Alex in the face so he yelps and runs to his own stockpile

But as the snowballs begin to fly again, Erik doesn't let go of his hand.

_Sorry- I was totally going to do their first kiss here, but a really cute idea from some of my lovely reviewers has changed my mind- it's in the next one, and please don't kill me!_

_As always, tell me how you feel- am I mangling the characters horribly? This was meant to be much fluffier, but Erik's problems just refused to leave him alone, and I had to write it like this- the next one will be happier, I promise. Please let me know what you think :D_

_Next: Ice Skating _


	7. Ice Skating

_A/N; Finally! This took me forever, but I had to get it just right. This is kind of the culmination of the last six chapters, and at last, __**The Kiss**__,__ and it took a while. But here you are, all bright and fluffy and hopefully good to read._

_Credit- this first was the idea of RocknDash and QuickSilverFox 3, so you guys especially, tell me what you think!_

_Enjoy!_

Ice Skating:

It's December now, and everything is covered by a perpetual shroud of whiteness and silence. Step outside and everything is muffled, every voice hushed to a whisper.

The lake at the back of the house is frozen solid, and in her spare time Raven has taken to teaching Alex to skate. Sean and Hank are of course killing themselves watching him fall over, but Raven just smiles and promises to give them lessons too. She even asks Erik if he wants to be taught, but the German shakes his head, claiming he's happy to remain ignorant.

Charles himself loves it. He's never really been one for sports, but ice skating has never really been one; it's more of an amusing pastime, a hobby. His parents never wanted him involved in 'senseless hooliganism' or fun of any kind, and so in the winter months he and Raven had to choose between skating and reading. Charles had chosen the latter, but Raven bugged him and bugged him till he gave in- or, as she claims with a grin, 'saved him from being boring as hell and taught him how to have actual fun.' He's surprisingly graceful on the ice, and Erik just watches, silent in his admiration.

In quiet moments, Charles watches Erik watch him, and knows that slowly, he's being changed. It's not the falling for another man thing, because it's not men, its Erik. Just Erik.

No, what worries him is that pacifism no longer seems to be the answer. Before, violence was never a solution, never justified. But now... now he looks at Raven, at Hank and Alex and Sean, and knows without doubt that if anyone ever touches them, ever hurts or threatens or even looks at them wrong in the street, there will be no place to hide. There will be no stone they cower under, no mercy and no reprieves, nothing but pain as their minds burn out. They will suffer- and all because of Erik.

Senseless aggression, the use of power for powers sake? Never. Protection? Hell yes. Because, and he cringes whenever he thinks this because it means admitting Erik was right the whole time- no one touches his kids.

He really hopes Erik isn't listening.

A rustling from the trees that ring the pond and the man himself emerges, wrapped in a thick black coat that Charles couldn't resist. The look of wonder in his eyes as he put it for the first time on is forever stamped in Charles' brain, burned there by the surprise of the first gift in a long, long time.

He can't help showing off a little, coming to a showy stop before the smirking German.

"Want to try?"

A raised eyebrow that speaks volumes of sarcasm.

Looking at Erik you wouldn't think he was graceful, but then a tiger who's about to pounce doesn't seem so either- you're far too busy worrying about what happens when they stop moving. When whatever is walking towards you is deadly, and quite possibly has you as their final destination, you don't waste time admiring. You run. Fast as you can, in the opposite direction, you run and hope like hell they don't catch up.

"I don't have any skates." **A small obstacle, don't you think?**

It's a challenge, pure and simple.

"Make some. There are spares." His tone is normal, but the challenge is met- there's no way he's getting away that easily.

A glitter of laughter in gunmetal grey, and Charles watches in silent awe as the metal from the spare skates is summoned, shaped and finally sharpened to an edge by the power of his friend, a deadly weapon all by himself. It doesn't matter how many times he sees it, he's always amazed, first just by the power, and now by the mastery.

As he pulls himself up, a low chuckle echoes through his friend on the ice. "Walking in them does take some getting used to."

And Charles is off, out to the middle, where he moves in lazy circles, waiting for Erik to join him. He doesn't try to hover or help, because he knows Erik won't accept it, so he waits, patiently, as the metal bender struggles to stand.

Erik stops for a moment, balanced perfectly on the metal edge. And promptly falls flat on his back, driving the wind out of his chest with the force of a freight train. The ice is cold against his head, but he can't bring himself to move as Charles zooms over, eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth, and offers his hand.

There are several falls after that.

Charles refuses to lend aid, other than showing him what to do; it's enough to prevent him killing himself but not enough to actually help him stay upright, and soon the air is filled with curses, all in increasingly accented German. Idly, Charles adds it to the rapidly growing list of things he loves about him- the more stressed, irritated or exasperated he gets, the heavier his accent becomes. He always swears in his native tongue too; he could listen to it all day, even with the cursing.

At the seventh attempt, Erik sits on the frostbitten grass, contemplative for a few moments. He's staring at Charles skates as if willing them to trip him up, but funny as it would be, it wouldn't really solve his coordination problem. In all honesty he's just glad the children aren't here to see it- he has a certain reputation to maintain, after all, and falling flat on your back on a regular basis is definitely not part of it.

He stands.

Then he smirks as he glides across the ice with the effortless ease of long practice, and Charles can't help it, his jaw drops in a totally stupid expression of surprise. Erik grins.

Charles Francis Xavier has never spluttered in his life. He's never felt stupefied enough, but now he can't help it. He _knows _his friend has never done it before- he's spent the last half an hour falling over, and _no-one _(with the possible exception of himself, but he always cheated) has a learning curve that steep. But here he is, moving with the ease of an expert, smooth and graceful. Not even a goddamn wobble.

**Well, this was easy. **The smugness is impossible to mistake for anything else; it comes across the mental link in self-satisfied waves. But there's something else...

**Cheat!**

Erik's expression is a picture of wounded innocence, but Charles isn't fooled. Now he's looking, the skates aren't touching the ice at all; they're suspended in mid-air by his friend, repelling gravity by way of magnetism. Bloody cheating little...

Charles is laughing as he grabs at his friend, trying to push him over in revenge. Erik just smirks- hey, it's not every day you fool a telepath- and braces himself, but it's not enough, and he tips over backwards, Charles hot on his heels.

Their heads bang together at just the wrong angle as they fall onto the bank- teeth clack painfully and blood leaks into the telepaths mouth, salty and thick.

Everything stops.

He stares into the fog grey eyes as he tastes the bitterness on his tongue, eyes that smile a smile of infinite value. Erik is just a little too warm, a little too close, face gently flushed and mouth quirked in the half smile that can cut you to shreds if he wants. But now it's soft, and with just a hint of something... else.

**That wasn't what I planned for our first.**

He doesn't wait for an answer, mental or otherwise.

No-one's lips should be this soft. That's his first thought, and his last, as he relishes the gentle whisper of fingertips on his cheekbones, the touch of breath on his cheek, and the world fades, unimportant in this place and this time. He can feel the rest of Erik beneath him, hard and well built; each muscle a relic of a long, desperate hunt for revenge. But revenge has no place here- its innocence, a child's kiss, pure and sweet and slightly sad, because why did they wait so long?

But now Charles has problem, a brilliant one, but a problem nonetheless, because now he _knows _the softness, the sweet addicting taste of him, so how the _hell_ does he ever stop?

Charles is tentative, and so, so, careful, trying desperately not to push him beyond any limit he might have set, and Erik is enthralled. He's never done this before and has no idea what he's doing, but the telepath is broadcasting his approval so loud he can't hope to do it wrong, not with Charles putting the images he is into his head.

**Is that even possible?**

A pause as the softness departs, and Erik almost cries out for it to come back again. Instead, Charles answers his question with one of his own, face glowing with satisfaction, forehead pressed to his, because he can never get close enough.

**Well? Did we make up for our first?**

Erik's response is a passionate affirmation, and Charles grins against his lovers mouth.

Groovy.

_Please take the time to review- was the first kiss and the build-up alright? Let me know- my practice for this sort of thing is quite limited. :D_

_Next: Chocolate_


	8. Hot Chocolate

_A/N: this one took longer than expected, so sorry for the wait- I hope you think it's worth it!_

_So, I was thinking about it, and I think I shouldn't have ignored the PTSD thing after fireworks- obviously Erik still has issues, and probably always will, but I wasn't dealing with them, and this chapter appeared, ready and waiting. Unfortunately this one's pretty angsty, but worry not, I will be back to my fun fluffy self soon enough!_

_Yeah- this has been edited. A lot. I re-read it and what I thought involved a lot of swearing, so please give it another chance- I hope its better!_

Hot Chocolate:

Erik wakes to darkness, to silence and solitude. The bed beside him is still warm, the coverlets rumpled the way Charles always left them, but it is a faded warmth, like a once hot bath left to cool in sunlight. The blinds are down, blocking any hint of light, and the clock blares out 1:53 in orange letters as if afraid it will be ignored.

Charles is gone, and he fights down the surge of fear that comes with that thought. Reading in the library, his logical brain says, but primitive parts shout it down. Been taken, kidnapped, _hurt_, and even though he knows he is being irrational, he can't help the panic that threatens to overwhelm him. The man is a telepath, capable of things Erik can't even imagine and can probably take very good care of himself, but somehow the thought, comforting as it should have been, doesn't soothe him at all as he pads downstairs.

Trying desperately to ignore the little voice, hidden beneath the others but no less penetrating. _He left because he couldn't deal with you anymore. A grown man who can't handle fireworks, or snow, or needles or labs or candles or white light..._

If he's honest with himself, in this rare moment of silence and introspection, he's never really had control over his mind. Even when he was a child, in the endless days that followed that office and the smiling German, his dreams were never his own, his thoughts, if you could call them that, were always those of a _thing_, a thing made of cunning and hatred and revenge. His mind isn't really a mind at all, it's just the illusion of one, and he supposes, feet padding gently on the stairs, that this was why he hates the thought of Charles getting inside it.

He's so good at pretending though. He's has to be, given what he's been doing, and he can fake normal so well that sometimes even he can't tell the difference, but with telepathy there is only honesty, only truth. If Charles were to look, really look, beyond the insight their connection gives him into his actual _thoughts_, he's pretty sure his lover would run screaming for the hills. Because Erik doesn't like his mind. What's in it scares him. But this dark, twisted thing that used to be him has been running the show for so long he doesn't know how to make it stop. Charles helps- dear god does he help- but when he's not there, the darkness comes back, ready and waiting for him to slip up.

A light glows under the kitchen door.

The door opens and he sags, relishing at the relief that sweeps through him. His lover stands at the stove, naked from the waist up, stirring a saucepan of thick brown liquid and looking absurdly pleased with himself. He hums a tune under his breath, seemingly oblivious, but Erik knows he's been aware of him since the second he'd woken up. And probably before that too.

There is a smell in the air, thick and rich, that seems to seep through his skin and into his veins. It's a soothing smell, a smell he will forever associate with home and warmth and safety, and without speaking Charles pours two mugs of it, setting them down on the small breakfast bar.

They sit in silence, not touching, hands curled around mugs filled with a foaming liquid. Charles is still humming as Erik sips, and the sound or the taste seems to dispel some of the dark cloud about his friend. The past is close tonight, and for once Charles allows himself a direct question.

But Erik beats him to it.

"Charles, will you read my mind?"

There is a silence as the implications sink in, and Erik wishes desperately he could take it back. He's just desperate, he thinks, desperate to prove to the thing in his head that it won't win, that Charles can see and will still care for whatever he has left.

"Why?" This question is soft as the last one was harsh, and Erik is taken aback.

He can't look at his friend, and he stares at the deep brown of the drink, wishing he could drown in it and spare himself this humiliation.

The stool next to him squeaks and suddenly Charles is there, two fingers pressed to against his temple, fingers warm and strong. He seems to be waiting for something, searching his face for whatever it is, but Erik nods once, and Charles shuts his eyes.

Sometimes with Erik it is words, deep and clear in his mind as river water over stones. Sometimes, late at night when the world is far away, sensations leap between them, peace and pleasure that curled like fire, the touch of fingertips on skin. Sometimes, when he smiles, humour breaks through the shell and he can be normal, he can function like he's a man, not a beast.

And sometimes there are dark days, where the world filled with blood at a sight or a smell, and it was all Charles could do to bring him back from the brink. Even here, in a kitchen a thousand miles and fifteen years away from Schmitt, the world was filled with him, smiling a smile stained with brown as Eric curled, whimpering on the floor. Blood, so warm against his cold skin dripping from his arms in soft crimson drops, as a small ink drop fell onto his face from the overturned bottle on the desk.

Words, sensations, emotions, all sweep over him like a tide, attempting to drown him. Here, on the threshold is the hardest, where the barriers between minds can break, and Charles is certain more than one telepath has been lost here, unable to keep themselves together. Even in normal minds this place is hard, perilous to the unwary, and Erik's snarls at him like an angry wolf, dangerous by default.

And yet he continues.

Charles, being a generally honest person, would love to believe he was shocked by what he sees, but he's not. He would love to be surprised, love to say he had no idea that this is what lurks beneath the cutting half smile and brutal wit, but if he did, he'd have been lying.

Erik just rocks slowly back and forth, unaware of anything. He had expected to feel something, someone moving around inside his head but there's nothing. Nothing but a rush of everything he remembers, and more than a few things he'd thought he had forgotten.

Charles dives deeper, scanning every memory, every emotion, every thought. He knows what Erik is doing now, and the reasons for his sudden request snatch at him, even as Schmitt looms large, and will always loom over everything he does.

He can feel himself tiring and begins to withdraw, but as Erik slowly regains awareness Charles can feel him tense, every muscle locking down as if for a battle. Fingers depart from Erik's temple but he doesn't turn, not even when a hand lands on his shoulder and gently turns his head.

Charles could always reach him with softness. Lips that tasted of camomile tea and the fresh, sunlight-on-grass scent of his cologne brought him back when roughness couldn't, even as strong arms pulled him close and clever fingers stroked his hair. There were no tears this time, just tremors that shook his whole body, and the smell of hot chocolate on the air.

**I'm sorry.**

And another thought, hidden beneath the first_. __**Don't go.**_

Charles doesn't respond, but his fingers bury deeper into thick hair, tugging gently to expose a neck pitted with marks. Lips ghost over pale scars, ones usually hidden by turtlenecks, distracting him the only way he can, for as long as he can. He pretends not to notice when fingers slide under the waistline of his pyjamas.

**Kitchen's probably not the place for this. **

Twinkling blue eyes meet disappointed grey ones.

**Now finish your drink before I use it for something else.**

Charles chuckles and Erik blinks as the fear begins to fade, pushed back for another day, another terror, another rescue. He finishes his drink in silence as Charles cleans up, his blue eyed Englishman too kind for his own good.

_Next: Flying_

_P.S- As I said, this has been very heavily edited- I think the main problem was I kept swapping tenses without realising, and it made it jar. But still, as always, please let me know- is this better? I think it is, but tips are always helpful! :D_


	9. Flying

_Hey everyone! I'm so so so sorry for the wait- my computer decided now was a wonderful time to completely spack out on me and has probably lost all my previous work. I was going to wait till it was fixed but it's taking forever so I've managed to find this laptop to work with, and have finally gotten round to typing this up. I actually feel this is much better than some of my previous chapters (which I really am not happy with and will probably edit fairly heavily, just so you know) so please let me know if it is better and/or if you still like my writing style._

_Anyhoo- this is the penultimate chapter (probably) before the big Cuban beach scene though there may be scenes afterwards as the mood strikes me (honestly- these chapters are just an attempt to contain myself but it keeps bubbling over and I write more) so any updates after the next one will be very sporadic if they happen at all._

_Enjoy!_

Flying:  
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Charles is in the garden when he first hears the scream, sunning himself on a bench made comfortable by copious amounts of cushions. For the first millisecond he dismisses it- Hank and Alex have been embroiled in a prank war for the better part of a week, and this wouldn't be the first time Raven's gotten caught in the crossfire.

Then the primitive part of his hindbrain kicks in, the part that notices what the conscious mind ignores- Alex and Hank aren't here. They've gone camping for three days, and even if they were, it wouldn't explain the fear pounding at his skull like an explosion in a gunpowder factory.

In less than a second the book is on the floor and he's running, sprinting round the corner towards the sound. Raven stands frozen, silent, staring up at the very large (and growing larger) very dark, very _human looking _shape that is just completing the last few seconds of a very long fall. Somewhere high above, an open window creaks guiltily in the breeze.

A noise from somewhere- a breath just a hairs breadth from being a gasp as the shape lands hard beside him, falling onto gravel with a painful sounding crunch.

Its Erik, still intact but shirt ripped by the force of the impact, cuts and scrapes harsh against the pale skin. A low moan of pain emerges from him, barely muted by the stones of the drive and Charles just stares, unable to process what his eyes are telling him.

Now there is a moment, a pause, as telepath assesses metal bender, as anger replaces fear and Raven backs away, almost afraid of his expression. She's only seen it a few times but she knows it well- it's the one Charles only gets when someone he cares about does something completely, totally and monumentally stupid and/or scares him to death in the process of doing said stupid thing. The result varies, but it's often loud, sometimes painful and always, always terrifying.

She'll never run out across the road again.

Erik pulls himself up with a groan and she backs away slowly, trying to avoid doing anything that might attract her brother's attention, but she needn't worry- he's far too angry at his lover to notice. Once in the safety of the entrance hall she runs, back to her room to avoid the fallout as best she can. Charles is furious, so she expects a splitting headache to set in within the next five minutes.

When Charles finally feels able to speak the tone is deceptive. Calm. Controlled. Even pleasant as he asks his lover what the _hell_ he thinks he's doing. But Erik can feel the rage skittering across the mental link they've both felt but have never talked about, and stares at the smaller man, tensing at the torrent of anger that's growing every second.

And then he asks the stupid question that people in these situations always seem to ask- the question that has Charles making a noise so filled with rage and fear and shock that it doesn't have a name, because Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea, _what's wrong?_ Dear _God, _why does the man he loves have to be such an _idiot,_ and...wait. What?

He tries to catch the thought before it escapes, but too late. It's gone, passed down the invisible wire and Charles freezes, his mind, possibly for the first time in his life, completely blank.

Not out of disgust or something stupid like that, because he's known how he feels for a while now and isn't ashamed, but if Erik isn't ready for it, if it's too soon, he'll ruin everything. Oh, Erik knows he _cares_, but love is a different matter entirely, and Erik doesn't deal well with emotions. He ignores them or blocks them out and if that doesn't work he leaves. Oh god. Erik can't leave.

He just can't.

Charles winces internally at the thought, because by this point he's pretty sure he'll never be able to let Erik go. Even if he begs, even if he tortures Shaw for weeks, shatters Emma's diamond form into a thousand tiny pieces and slaughters every human in fifty miles, Charles knows he'd cave. Cave and welcome his lover back with open arms, because... to hell with principles and pacifism; life just can't go on without him. It just can't- even if love is never mentioned.

Well, it's too late for that last part now.

The taller man looks almost contemplative as he stares at Charles; eyes crinkled in an odd mixture of perusal and confusion... and hope? Was that hope he just felt? Hope is good, hope is great, even as Charles feels it mix with something else, something intrinsically tied to his face, and his smile, and...

Erik starts to rise. Slowly at first, oh, so slowly his heals leave the path till it looks like he's standing on his toes but he keeps on going, feet leaving the gravel entirely as he spreads his arms wide, cuts and bruises forgotten in the rush of delight.

Erik is flying. Some part of Charles brain connects the dots that this is what Erik was attempting in the first place, but he's too busy staring in awe to pay any attention to it. Distraction is impossible- he's drinking in the sight of his lover as he tries to find the right words for the way he looks now, but none seem to fit.

Power? He's always had that, buckets of it, far more than Charles could ever hope to possess. Happiness? That's closer, but not really close enough- Charles has seen Erik happy, and beautiful as it is, this leaves it far behind, gasping for breath. Euphoric? Ah. That was better- not quite, but as close as he was going to get.

Eyes meet, blue on grey, and they wonder how they missed it, because it's so bloody obvious they shouldn't have had to think about it.

Now they feel it and know they can find each other- anywhere, anytime it doesn't matter, fifteen miles or a hundred or four thousand years. Two minds so close they cannot be separated, even if they scream and rage and beg to be apart.

Erik is flying. He's rising slower now as he begins to gain control, twisting the Earth's magnetic field to his will, and just for a moment he feels like crying, eyes locked to those of a man who gave him everything, and then just a little bit more.

A second they hang in silence- a perfect timeless era where everything that needs to be said is said without effort or fear.

But the moment is passing as these moments must, and he's falling again, but gently, a leaf drifting down in its own time. Charles is there to meet him, throwing his arms around broad shoulders and burying his face in his lover's neck, ignoring how he winces from the bloody scrapes.

**Thank you.**

The words are silent but filled with meaning and Charles understands, kissing the place where neck meets shoulder as arms wrap around his waist.

There were probably more conventional ways to say I love you, Charles mused, but then, in all honesty, he didn't really care.

_Next:__ Missile Strikes_

_A/N: So yeah, I couldn't resist- Charles helps Erik find the power to fly. Too cheesy?_

_For those who wanted verbal declarations of love I'm sorry, but it just seemed to jar with the image I had of them in my head- Charles being Charles the admission would almost certainly be an accident, and Erik? Well, we know what Erik's like, he probably wouldn't say it at all, at least directly._

_As always but especially for this one- review! Are you happy with it? My writing seems to be oscillating pretty madly at the moment, and I hope this is as good as my earlier chapters- if it is, or even if it isn't, please let me know!_


	10. Missile Strikes

_All I can do is apologise about fifty times for the amount of time its taken me to get this done- every time I tried it just didn't work, but now its done, for your approval, and I hope it's a fitting end..._

Missile Strikes;

He doesn't need to see them to know they are coming; even with his eyes closed he can feel how they move, sleek and smooth and deadly as they glide through the air. Time slows and everything goes quiet, quiet enough to hear Raven gasp behind him as power courses down his arm and out, up into the sky where the missiles are waiting.

They stop, quivering in the sky like obedient puppies, and the world is reduced to red because of what they have done.

They were going to kill the children. They were going to kill Charles; the fact that he was included on the list of targets doesn't even cross his mind; _they were going to kill the children._

Without conscience, without pity, there were going to slaughter innocents, innocents who would help them, who would risk their lives doing so, and in that moment all he has ever hated about the human race is confirmed. He wants them to burn.

High above, the missiles twitch as his anger makes itself known, but somewhere someone is talking to him, voice a buzzing in his ear; he reaches out to swat it away, but realises that it's Charles. Charles is saying something, the tone of his voice urgent, but he can't understand through the haze across his vision.

"Erik please!" His lover shouts again, as if by calling louder he'll make more sense. "Don't!"

The scarlet fog recedes, helped along its way be disbelief; does Charles not realise what's just happened? What these people have just done, to those saved them, did everything they could to protect the lives of people who should be protecting them?

Charles isn't stupid.

"Please, Erik." He breathes, voice so soft Erik has to strain to hear it, and it's as if the whole world is holding its breath. "I'm begging you, don't kill them. Don't let them make you a murderer."

Erik scoffs and turns away, something bitter coating his mouth and tongue. "You're a bit too late Charles." Charles knows what he's done, and pretending ignorance won't help his cause.

"Good."

That gets his attention, grabs it and pulls hard, and Erik whips round because there is no way he can have heard right. "What?"

"You heard me." Charles replies, crossing his arms, and though this is no time for humour, there's a small smile on his face. Neither of them has forgotten the missiles, or the ships watching in horror as they hang above them, but this is important.

"What happened to pacifism?" Erik asks one part sarcasm, two parts genuine curiosity.

"I met you."

For some reason, that hurts- hurts a lot, and the missiles begin to wobble dangerously as his control slips. Something squeezes his ribs, but Charles isn't done ripping him in two yet.

_I knew you'd probably kill him; I've gotten good at predicting you, and I knew no matter what I said you were almost certainly going to do it. I could have let him go, I could have let him defend himself, but I didn't. Because in the end, it came down to him or you, and he wasn't even a contender._

The missiles begin to fall Erik is so stunned, and he only just regains them before they hit the water. He doesn't look away though, can't stop staring at the Charles android someone must have left in his lovers place, because there is no way this is actually him.

It sounds like him though.

_But if you kill them, they'll come after us all with everything they have. You'll be putting the children in the middle of a war, and Erik? _He pauses, and Erik knows it's for effect. _We. Cannot. Win._

_Do you know anyone who can face us Charles?_

_Do you think we can fight the entire human race? _

Erik pauses, and it takes Charles less than a second to push his advantage. _You have had the revenge you deserve, even though it was my dearest wish you wouldn't, you needed it. You were right then, but now, my friend, you know that I am right. We __**cannot**__ fight the entire human race._

There is a moment, when the world waits, when telepath faces metal bender and the fate of so many, who know nothing of this exchange, hangs precariously from a single thread.

And the missiles are released.

They soar with a beauty that belies their intent, higher and higher and higher, till the sun itself seems marked by their kiss. And high above the children, so all can see and witness what awaits another threat; they explode, shielded from the falling shrapnel by their friend, teacher and enemy.

_What do we do now? _Erik asks, as Moira runs forward with the children, only to be lifted into the air by the mental on their harnesses. There is still urgency, because even now they will be organising a pursuit, but Charles smiles, and takes his hand.

_I was considering starting a school. What do you think?_

_Wow- it took me so long to think of how I wanted to do this, and now I've done it, it feels a bit wierd..._


End file.
